


The Meeting Point

by CallousHeartz



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: 2/4 of the Desert Boys quartet except they’re kids, First Meetings, Gen, Kid Fic, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 22:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14819810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallousHeartz/pseuds/CallousHeartz
Summary: The first real conversation that took place between Jet and Poison, and maybe even the beginning of a life-long bond? Who knows.(It's in 3rd person but it's from Jet's point of view)





	The Meeting Point

He'd thought it all through. 

He'd done his research to some extent - (watched enough Bear Grylls on his friend’s secret laptop to get some survival tips under his sleeve), he'd shoved his creepy-ass childhood teddy that was like, roughly the size of an almost-fifteen-year-old under his duvet to avoid suspicion; he'd even snuck a box of matches in his jacket pocket for good measure. 

Goddamn, he was invincible.

Except he really wasn't. 

He cursed under his breath - partly because the stress was really starting to set in now, and he shouldn't have done this, and what the hell was going to happen when his family pulled that damn stuffed toy out of his bed and figured it out, and he had no clue what he was doing, and he'd never left the city before, and he was gonna be dead meat - but mostly because, well fuck! It felt beyond liberating to say "fuck." 

That word would never have been able to slide past his lips a day earlier without consequences, but now... he was one free as fuck mother-fucking-fucker.

He'd come to the Lobby, on the city's outskirts where no kid dared to go - it was pretty cool, but he felt a pang of regret at not bringing a couple markers with him. 

Adding to the 302 variations of the phrase "BLI SUX DICK" peppering the grimy wall he was crouched against really would've been the highlight of his year.

Anyway, back to his current predicament. 

So yeah, maybe he was a little screwed. 

Hell, he wasn't gonna miss the routines his childhood had revolved around up until now, and he wasn't gonna miss the adults who put them in place, dictating his every move, making decisions for him like he wasn't capable... but there were people to miss.

His friends had stuck by him, listened to his endless rambling about his plans to get the hell out of this suffocating dump they called Battery City.

There were teachers at school who, despite the repetitive warnings they preached everyday and the distance in their eyes, he'd warmed to. (Not that he'd ever admit to it.)

There were, of course, his mothers, who had a million and one rules and a cupboard of those mind-numbing, lethargy-charged pills he'd been told were to be a part of his life since his tenth birthday... but they had his best interests at heart, really.

And sure, his siblings pissed him off, but that was kinda their job, wasn't it? 

He hadn't appreciated any of them though.  
Not enough.  
Not whilst he could.

And now there was no one.

It was just him.

Him and the reckless plan he'd drawn up in his head, him and the nagging doubt that wouldn't fucking leave him alone, him and -

"Hey, asshole!"

He looked up with a start, the shrill, vengeance-filled little voice pulling his train of thoughts right off its track.

It was some kid from his school - that entitled pipsqueak in the grade below who hung around the lockers, looking down their slightly upturned little nose at everyone and anyone, mock designer bag on their arm and head held high wherever they went.

They looked a little different now, though - their fair hair out of its usual taut, ribbon-held fishtail braid swept over one shoulder and now a long, bedraggled mess, soaked in a red substance.  
The vibrant substance stained their pale hands, too, and hung in patches on their usually pristine white summer dress with its crumpled skirt - once neatly pleated and ironed smooth - and their equally pristine white socks with the tiny bows that wouldn't look so unfitting on the tidy, (BLI standard) kid they’d been dressed up as earlier that day.

The older teen opened his mouth to speak, but new kid cut him off before he could - 

"It's _hair dye_ , fuckface. Now, you got scissors? Or anything sharp," The kid spat, tugging at the tips of their badly-coloured hair with a scowl of loathing.

"Oh! I, um," The teenager rummaged in his jacket for a second, before pulling out a small pocket knife. 

"This is all I got. Don't run away with it or some shit, 'kay? Here," He handed it over to the dye-smothered 13-year-old.

Their face lit up - this was probably the first time he'd seen them with an expression other than some sort of frown or an arrogant smirk. 

It was weird, but sorta heart-warming.

He could tell they weren't one to verbally express their gratitude, but their smile said enough as, without hesitation, they pulled their hair to one side and hacked away at it until it hung in uneven strands a little past their jaw.

"How do I look?" They asked, tossing their head proudly as they passed the knife back.

The older boy looked up and shot them a grin, clearly impressed,  
"Awesome, kid," He shoved the knife back in his pocket, "I couldn't do shit that cool with a knife,"

The kid beamed,  
"Y'know, this is real cool. I just need the jacket and the car now,"

They got an inquistive look in response,  
"You know," they explained, "Those guys you see in old movies n stuff who have those awesome old cars and leather jackets? And the loud-ass rock music blastin' outta their speakers. The kind the teachers at school would hate," They smirked a little at the last part, and added,  
"Soon as I'm outta this hellhole," They flipped their newly cut hair with pride, "That's my plan,"

The teen nodded,  
"I get ya completely, kid. You got it all planned out, haven't you?"

"Yup. All of it," They run their fingers through their hair with a scoff, "Not like I can exactly head back home now, anyway,"

And that night, two city boys - one who'd found colour in the dye that covered his clothes, and one determined to find colour in whatever lay ahead of him - knew for certain they had a mark to leave.


End file.
